


Hasty-Footed Time

by Fyre



Series: Desire Increase [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Playing Footsie, Slow Build, because intimacy is its own reward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:02:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25494295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: After the Apocalypse-that-wasn't, Aziraphale and Crowley are trying new things.Wherein an angel and a demon play footsie.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Desire Increase [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1784770
Comments: 30
Kudos: 176





	Hasty-Footed Time

Before the End Times, there had always been some level of subterfuge about their meetings. One couldn’t simply chum about with a member of the opposition. The rules, such as they had been, meant that there had to be a reason for their encounters.

If said encounters devolved in drinking sessions in the bookshop or a cheerful carouse through the taverns of the west end, all to the good.

Now, they could go wherever they wanted for any particular reason.

Aziraphale had suggested afternoon tea and the Ritz and Crowley, of course, accommodated him. He always did when it came to dining out. The angel had noticed how much Crowley enjoyed watching him enjoy his meals. How could he not, after so many years of friendship?

So they ordered the luxurious cream tea and Aziraphale could scarcely contain the wiggle of delight at the sight of the stacked plates. Before he made a start, he took Crowley’s plate, selecting the few favourites the demon had, and presented them with a smile.

A lovely rosy glow spread up Crowley’s cheek. “You can have some of them, if you want, angel.”

Aziraphale shook his head with a warm smile. “Allow me my little indulgences,” he said, whispering his fingers briefly over the back of Crowley’s bony knuckles.

How charming that Crowley’s flushed cheeks reddened a little more. At such a simple touch too. But then, they never touched like that in public, did they? They’d only really started in private. His own cheeks warmed at the thought. Perhaps it was a bit much, a little too visible.

It took him several sandwiches and a cup of rather delicious Rooibos to realise that such touches need not be limited to hands. In fact, they were seated at a table with trailing white cloths that fell nearly to the ground and covered all manner of sins.

He drew a small platter of cake closer and, as he cut into the slice with his fork, he inched his foot forward, little by little, until it brushed against the side of Crowley’s.

The demon’s breath hitched and Aziraphale glanced up at him through his lashes. Still, waiting, letting Crowley decide what was enough or too much. Crowley’s throat bobbed, urgent and rapid, but the rest of him was stock-still.

Then beneath the table, his foot shifted, dragging and hooking around Aziraphale’s heel with the long sharp toe of his boot, drawing it closer.

Aziraphale masked his smile, biting the cake from his fork and sucking the rich buttery icing from the tines. He met Crowley’s eyes again, drawing the fork slowly from between his lips. A shudder ricocheted down his spine as Crowley’s ankle grazed up the back of his just as slowly as he drew the fork away.

The end of his trouser leg was hitched over Crowley’s dragging up and it was so close to skin-against skin that he had to swallow hard, his fork shivering in his hand.

Crowley shifted his weight, that mesmerising serpentine sway, and propped his elbow on the table, lips pressing to curled fingers. He had his prey in his sight, Aziraphale thought, heady with delight, as the hem of his trousers inched a little higher.

Still, one had to keep up appearances, and he cut himself another delicate sliver of cake, meeting Crowley’s eyes as he curled his lips around it. And that, of course, was when he felt the ripple of the texture of Crowley’s boots shifting. Scales rearranging themselves and bare toes tracing up the back of his ankle.

The whisper of bare skin against his calf, tracing the line of his sock, made his breath catch and he clutched his fork tighter. Up and down, Crowley’s toes matched the curl of his finger under his chin, goosebumps rippling across Aziraphale’s skin as prickles of pleasure shot through him.

“Your cake,” Crowley murmured, moving in gentle ripples from side to side, above and below the table.

How could such a simple innocent touch be so electrifying?

“Oh. Yes. My cake.”

A second foot joining the first very nearly made him drop his fork. Nimble toes tugged at his laces and, despite his better judgement, he drew his foot free of his shoe.

The angel stared at the wobbling piece of cake on his fork, then back at Crowley as his sock was drawn off as sensually as a stocking. Inch by inch, gentle toes exposed his foot beneath the table, one stripping him, the other curving playfully along his instep, making him shift and breathe a little harder.

“How–” he managed.

Crowley flashed a grin that only seemed a little strained around the edges. “Had to do something to amuse myself on the slow days.” His toes brushed teasingly against Aziraphale’s and Lord, Aziraphale’s heart is a snare drum in his ribcage.

The ticklish coil of toes snaking across the back of his foot and up across his now-nude ankle had Aziraphale’s fork clattering from his hand. It was a great deal – too much? – the secret intimacy of it. Parts of them never uncovered now touching so deliciously.

And Crowley realised, as he always did, and with a quiet snap of his fingers, Aziraphale was both socked and shod and their ankles crossed like threads on a loom, thrumming with tension. Back and forth, like a shuttle across the weft.

Little by little, the cake and all the accompanying delicacies disappeared. And ever so gently, a whisper of skin on bare skin didn’t feel quite so scandalous.

Crowley uncurled his hand from under his chin and offered it. Aziraphale, his body still humming with the secret closeness, took it and smiled. A little at a time may not be much, but they had eternity.

**Author's Note:**

> [Come say hello on tumblr](https://amuseoffyre.tumblr.com/) :D I don't bite. Often.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Hasty-Footed Time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26679121) by [Djapchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Djapchan/pseuds/Djapchan)




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